


Common People

by nomeancity



Category: Common People - Pulp (Song), Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:14:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23983621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomeancity/pseuds/nomeancity
Summary: Cordelia and Aral muse on commonplace pleasures on their home planets, 30 years apart.
Relationships: Aral Vorkosigan/Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan, Oliver Jole/Aral Vorkosigan/Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan
Comments: 25
Kudos: 54
Collections: New Year's Resolutions 2020





	1. Barrayar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [atreic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atreic/gifts).



> Dear atreic, I do not imagine for a moment that this was what you had in mind for your prompt, but it's what has been percolating in my brain for 18 months or so. I hope you like it. Happy Beltane, only a few days late.

_ I want to live like common people, _ _  
_ _ I want to do whatever common people do, _ __  
_ I want to sleep with common people... _ _  
_ _ Like you._

Cordelia gazed out over the lake. She never tired of watching the play of the light on the water - all that water, just open to the atmosphere! Aral was endlessly, lovingly amused by her passion for the lake, the rivers, even the rain. They’d gone for a midnight walk a few nights ago, so that she could finally see moonlight on the water. She had thought it far prettier than anything human, despite Aral’s protestations otherwise. She smiled, remembering the other activities the moonlight had inspired. Armsman Esterhazy had been perfectly expressionless when he’d bowed them back into the house, but he could hardly have missed the grass stains on Aral’s trousers…

She unwrapped her arms from her knees and leaned back, stretching her legs out in front of her. Aral wasn’t with her this morning for a repeat performance, more’s the pity, but she had left him peacefully sleeping back at the house. She seemed to be waking earlier and earlier, this last couple of weeks, despite often feeling fatigued in the late afternoon. She wasn’t sure if this was some subtle effect of early pregnancy or just the lack of Betan blackout blinds, but, when she’d woken in the grey light today to Aral snoring gently beside her, she had been inspired to slip out to see what sunrise over the lake looked like.

Very beautiful, was the answer. The sun had gilded the leaves on every tree as it peeked over the hills, and the lake had briefly looked like molten gold. She was even accustomed enough, now, to enjoy the morning calls of the native avian species, rather than being startled by the volume of the noise.  _ What does Aral call it? Oh yes, “the dawn chorus”. _

She was growing to love the view from the promontory - and Vorkosigan Surleau in general. It would have been enough that it was the site of so much personal happiness for her, and Aral clearly loved it passionately, but it also had this abundance of natural beauty.  _ Do these Barrayarans know how lucky they are, to have all this? _ She watched a skein of geese - the source of at least some of the avian racket - swoop in to land on the lake, making glittering ripples as they did so, and sighed with joy. The promise of green, sunlit, living planets was one that had lured her towards a career in the Betan Survey, all those years ago. She remembered watching, open-mouthed, a promotional film about the Survey’s work when she was a very young child. The camera had dwelt lovingly on the “new” planet the team had been exploring and she had feasted her eyes on waterfalls and jungles. Of course, she’d later discovered that the whole sequence had been filmed in a nature reserve on Earth, but by that time it was too late: she’d already spent weeks and months dreaming of exploring that planet or others like it. By the time she was old enough to study five-space maths, she was greedily devouring the leaflets on careers as an astrocartographer and it was all a foregone conclusion.

Now here she was, with her very own planet to explore. Admittedly, six-year-old her hadn’t imagined that the planet would already be occupied, let alone that she might marry one of the aliens - that had been a rather more adolescent fantasy… Speaking of which, she rather thought the alien might be approaching now. She twisted round to smile invitingly over her shoulder, just as Aral arrived at the top of the slope. The answering smile that lit his face and made him look ten years younger still made her heart turn over, despite repeated exposure to it over the past few months. Just for a moment, she allowed herself to luxuriate in the thought that this was what it would be like forever, now.

“You’re up early, dear Captain.” Aral stretched his legs out next to hers and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She snuggled in uninhibitedly and hid a smug grin -  _ Mine! All mine! And so warm! _ \- in his shirt. He dropped an answering kiss on top of her head, before continuing, “Is little Piotr Miles waking you up already?”

“I’m not sure - it could just be your bright mornings here. He’s not waking me up literally, anyway - I still can’t feel him moving.” She couldn’t help but smile - foolishly, she suspected. “Rest assured, you’ll be the first to know when I do.”

Aral’s bright grin was enough of an answer. They both gazed contentedly out over the sunlit lake in companionable silence for a few minutes, before Cordelia continued. “I watched the sunrise from here, this morning. I’d have married you wherever you lived, but, I must admit, this place is a pretty nice bonus.”

“I’ve loved it ever since I was a boy.” Cordelia could hear the smile in Aral’s voice without taking her eyes off the view. A smaller water bird of some description had joined the geese and kept diving nimbly below the surface. “When we arrived in the summer, my brother and I would run straight down to the lake for a swim, never mind the weather. I think my mother despaired of ever getting us to come to meals on time - we were always down at the lake, or off somewhere in the hills. Of course, sometimes we had permission to stay out.”

Cordelia laughed with delight, only partly at that thoughtful “sometimes”. Aral so rarely spoke of his mother or brother without constraint or pain. “And what did you do if you missed dinner, with or without permission?”

Aral winked at her. “Well, the cook was very susceptible to hungry small boys… But no, sometime we would go on longer trips - camping, you know. I think Father thought it was good practice for the Imperial Service Academy. He would send one of his armsmen to ride herd on us - now, who was it who usually drew  _ that _ unpopular duty…” He bit his lip, then nodded in satisfaction. “Armsman Golkov, that was it. Tomas Golkov…” For a moment, his face set and Cordelia’s heart sank, then she saw him consciously turn away from whatever darker memory had touched him and make an effort to speak lightly. “He’d grown up in the Dendarii Mountains, and he taught Vlad and I how to snare rabbits and fish in the lake - so we could catch our own dinner, if needs be.” He grinned at Cordelia’s unfeigned shudder. She still found the concept of eating dead animals nauseating, but she didn’t begrudge Aral his amusement - not when this was so clearly a happy childhood memory. He went on, “We often camped on the beach at the other end of the lake. It’s a beautiful spot, and an excellent place for a campfire. No fire risk on the shore, you see - Mother used to worry about that. We’d bake the fish in the embers and stay up far later than anyone would usually let either of us, telling tall tales or star gazing. I swear we always got the best views from that beach, the first night of the holidays.”

Cordelia pictured two small boys, gazing up at the stars beside a dying fire. Maybe talking quietly, or maybe laughing and scuffling, as children do. That, at least, was familiar from her own childhood on Beta - though her young self would have had no concept of “camping”, or “beach”, or “star gazing”. She thought of that six-year-old and smiled broadly - minus the eating-dead-animals, she would have loved it. Still would, in fact. “It sounds idyllic. Maybe we could camp there sometime - you could show me the stars.”

Aral nodded. “Of course, dear Captain. Though, actually, there was somewhere else I wanted to show you this summer…” Cordelia raised her eyebrows enquiringly and he continued. “We always spent most of our holidays here, but Mother loved to go to the coast at Midsummer.”

“I remember you talking about watching fireworks there, for the Emperor’s birthday.”

“Yes, exactly - a little resort called Bonsanklar. I don’t think it’s changed much - it’s a very quiet place. When I was very young, my favourite activity was building sandcastles on the beach. Mother used to help me gather shells to decorate them…” He smiled very tenderly at Cordelia. “I don’t think we’ll see any fireworks, but I wanted to show you the sea.”

Cordelia caught her breath, wondering if it was possible for hearts to burst with happiness. Anatomically impossible, at least. She settled for hugging Aral ruthlessly instead, which he returned with interest, drawing her into his lap. “Aral, love, I couldn’t like anything better. Let’s go. When?”

Aral grinned without releasing her from his arms. “I thought perhaps next week?”

“Perfect.” Cordelia looked out over the lake again, but her mind’s eye still saw her six-year-old self, playing at exploring a natural world Beta Colony could never provide, and two small Barrayaran boys looking up at the stars.  _ I want the best for our child… _ “Aral.” He made an enquiring  _ hmm _ . “Let’s go to Bonsanklar after Piotr Miles is born - as well as next week, I mean.” She tilted her head back to meet his eyes upside down. “You can teach him how to build sandcastles.”

She had thought Aral looked happy before, but now his eyes lit up. “Dear Captain, only if you will provide the shells.”

“With the greatest of pleasure.” She pictured Aral enslaved by a toddler and smiled wickedly. “We might have to wait until he’s a little older to take him camping. Mark you, I’m taking no part in any hunting for dinner.”

“We always hunted when we were on our own, Vlad and I. Piotr Miles might have more fun going with his brothers...” Aral paused, feeling her catch her breath. “Cordelia, are you all right?”

“Yes - I, just…” Cordelia felt as though a light had gone on in an already well-lit room. It was much the same feeling as she’d had when the lake had turned gold in the sunrise. Piotr Miles could have brothers.  _ Brothers, plural. Sisters, too. They don’t have any child licences here. _ “Yes. Aral, thank you.”

He smiled quizzically at her, “For what, my dear?”

“For...the possibility of children. And because your world is a beautiful place to raise them.”

He settled her more comfortably on his lap, brushing a kiss to her temple in doing so. “That seems like little enough for any man to give you.”

She nodded confidently. “It’s more than enough.”


	2. Beta Colony

_ You'll never live like common people _ _  
_ _ You'll never do what common people do _ __  
_ You'll never fail like common people _ _  
_ _ You'll never watch your life slide out of view..._

Cordelia looked around the mall with pleasure. It wasn’t that she missed Beta Colony, precisely - in many ways, Barrayar seemed more familiar these days, after more than 30 years there - but something inside her seemed to relax when she heard a Betan accent. It could be it was just the blessed anonymity - she, they could fade into the background on Beta Colony in a way that would never, ever be possible on Barrayar.  _ A holiday from other people’s attention _ , she thought with satisfaction.

Today was exactly that - they’d fought to a compromise with their security detail, who had grudgingly agreed to remain invisible, if not entirely absent, and she and Aral were, if not exactly incognito, at least completely unremarkable to the many Betans hurrying past. She wondered idly what they looked like to the average uninterested passer-by. She, at least, might still blend in as an average Betan. Aral was more likely to draw a second glance - even in Betan clothing, if not quite a sarong. He looked simultaneously too old for his chronological age, and too young for the age his white hair implied, on Beta, she thought with a pang grown more familiar since his heart attack.

It was, perhaps, a lot of trouble to go to for a trip to the mall. Cordelia didn’t even particularly like shopping - that was usually Alys’ speciality - nor did she need to stock up on Betan goods. However, after the close confines of a fast courier, with an exceptionally polite and deferential crew ready to leap to satisfy any whim (of course they would, they had  _ Count and Countess Vorkosigan aboard! _ ), followed by the obligatory diplomatic function on their arrival (it seemed that it was actually impossible to retire from the Imperium), then the always-slightly-discombobulating reunion with her family (her Betan family, who never seemed to know quite what to make of Aral), she had been prepared to go to almost any lengths for a quiet coffee with her husband - alone. Aral had been in complete agreement, for much the same reasons, and the mall had seemed an ideal destination. After all, they both enjoyed people-watching, and rarely had an opportunity to do so that wasn’t, well, work.

She turned to her husband cheerfully. “Shall we find a café, then, before Armsman Esterhazy pops out from behind a pot plant to check - Aral?” She paused, surprised by the abstracted, almost melancholy, look on his face, as he gazed at something over her head. “Aral, what’s wrong?” She turned to try and see what had caught his attention, but could only see a Betan trio, who she supposed might be around her own age, strolling arm-in-arm. As she watched, one of the group laughed and kissed one of his partners, as the third draped a fond arm round his shoulders.

She turned back to Aral, already trying to frame her next question, only to be met by his hasty “Nothing, dear Captain. You’re right, shall we…?”

“Aral.” She took his arm firmly and steered him towards a bench. “Don’t. We’re on holiday - we’ve got all the time in the world. You can tell me whatever’s bothering you.” She sat down firmly and pulled him down next to her, before swivelling to meet his eyes fully. “Come on. Spill.”

He sighed, then smiled and shook his head ruefully. “‘Spill.’ You’re reverting to type again.”

She folded her arms and leaned back with a meaningful look. “Diversion won’t help you.”

“All right.” He looked down at his folded hands silently for so long, Cordelia actually began to wonder if she’d have to prod him some more. Finally, he slowly spoke, without looking up. “Do you remember our time in my cabin, during the Escobaran War?”

For a moment, Cordelia couldn’t feel the bench under her legs. _Bothari, muttering in his sleep._ _All those men, going unknowingly to their deaths…_ She wasn’t aware of physically flinching, but Aral looked up and caught her hands, apologetically. “No! Cordelia, I don’t mean the war. I only meant…” He took a deep breath. “Do you remember that I told you I had fantasised about emigrating to Beta Colony?”

Cordelia felt her lips twitch into a wry smile. “I remember that you said you’d become a judo instructor. Not that aspects of…” She paused, choosing her words for a moment, “Aspects of your last job weren’t a lot like judo, in a way.”

“Using an opponent’s weight to overset them… Yes, dear Captain.” Aral returned her smile, but his seemed less wry than just plain sad. “But, sometimes, I wonder if it wouldn’t have been - better, in some ways, if I had come here. Turned up on your doorstep, become a judo instructor, become - unexceptional. Normal.” His voice dropped further. “If I couldn’t have given you a better life, here. We’ve come so far, but still…”

Barrayar had come so far, she knew he meant, and heard a younger version of his voice with the same pain.  _ Your customs seem so free and calm to me… _ She met his eyes and found herself speaking just as carefully. “I remember, when we first met, I told you that a person could lose their honour on Beta Colony, just as they could on Barrayar. And I remember that later you said emigrating here was only a fantasy, because ‘exile for no other motive than ease would be to give up all hope of honour.’ I still think we were both right.”

Aral nodded, but he didn’t look any happier, and his eyes drifted over her shoulder again, before he looked down at their joined hands once more. “You’re right, dear Captain. I know you are right, and yet…”

She waited for a moment, then prompted gently. “Yet?”  _ Come on, Aral - what’s brought this old grief up now? _

He sighed and forced a smile. “I’m getting old, and ease for those I love is tempting. On top of everything past…” He took a deep breath. “On Beta Colony, you and I and Oliver could walk down the street together, hand in hand, and we would not merit a second glance.” He met her eyes. “That is still unimaginable on Barrayar, and maybe it always will be.”

Cordelia felt her heart ache, for everything past and for now. For Aral watching that Betan trio enviously. For the young Aral she’d never met, who had sworn his oath to a world that wouldn’t accept the whole of him.  _Like father, like son - oh, Miles. Truth, then - because nothing else will do._ “Aral. If you’d come here and become a judo instructor, I would have married you in a heartbeat.” He looked sharply at her, and she met his eyes squarely. “What, you get the monopoly on wanting an easy life for those you love? I would have married you, and maybe we would have been happier…”  _ If you’d been a different man, my love. _ “...But Gregor might have been dead before his fifth birthday.”

Aral made a gesture of negation,  _ Not necessarily _ , but she kept speaking. “It would have been - better, for Miles.” She bit her lip. An old pain, for them both. “But - he would not be the man he is today. And Mark would never have been born.”

Aral blinked, caught for a moment. “That’s true.” Cordelia felt her heart warm.  _ Yes, love, you have two living sons. _

“Finally, Aral,” she waited for him to meet her eyes before she said softly, “If you’d come here, we would never have met Oliver - and that would be a loss, for both of us.” She saw a light start to kindle in his eyes. “And I believe that if you hadn’t stayed on Barrayar, it would have gone down into the dark of another civil war. I still believe great tasks are great gifts, and you did not fail. You’re just leaving something for the next generation to do.”

Aral leaned across and kissed her. “Not me. Us. Dear Captain, if I have succeeded at all, it has only been with your help.”

Cordelia wrapped her arm round his waist and leaned into his shoulder. “It’s very hard to do anything worthwhile alone, you know.”

... _ It might just get you through. _


End file.
